


black malt

by Cheshire



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, Drunken Banter, M/M, a hint of forpykas?, but not pykas, pykas, pykasyth?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:44:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshire/pseuds/Cheshire
Summary: Lukas is dumped and feels just fine. Python takes him out for drinks anyway, because why not?Spoilers for the Python x Lukas DLC support.





	black malt

The sun’s low on the horizon when Python finds Lukas waiting for him at his tent. He expects important news of some kind, something about the war, about their enemies and most likely what enemies needed an arrow through their necks in the near future.

Instead, Lukas tells him that the lady he’d been courting back home has found another man. Python figures that’s important news too, in its own way.

“Is that right?” Python asks. Of course it’s right, but he gives Lukas a once over, and Lukas is the same as ever: serene, composed, untroubled. “You don’t look too torn up about it, old boy. You should’ve seen what Forsyth looked like the first time a pretty girl left him in the gutter.”

“Perhaps that’s because I’m not ‘torn up.’ I--” Lukas stops to search for the right word. Python doesn't mind waiting. It’s a thoughtful pause, a brief moment for Lukas to figure out precisely what he wants to say. “I feel unburdened, if anything at all.”

“Was she that much of a harpy? You made her sound at least half decent when you brought her up before--”

Lukas interrupts, “No. I don’t have any ill will against her, nor she against me, simply that there’s another nobleman of higher stature available to her now. I could feel insulted, other men might, but I find that I approve of her making decisions to steer her own life.”

“Well—that's great. But if you’re doing so fine, what do you need from old Python?”

Lukas smiles, faintly. It’s a good look on him. “You told me to come to you if my lady left me, for ale, and I believe something about spending all my silver.”

Python makes a genuine effort not to laugh. He fails, but it’s pleasant laughter, dry but not without warmth. He grins. (It’s a good look on him too, and Python knows it is, but he doesn’t really _know_ , not like someone watching.) “That was for _your_ sake, Luke. To cheer you up.”

“Truly? And here I thought you were hoping for an excuse to drink on my coin. You’re welcome to, if you’d like. I thought I'd have a few drinks, perhaps I'm in a mood to celebrate, but I _could_ go to town alone if you were planning to turn in early tonight.”

They both know Python isn’t turning down free ale. Only Python knows that he’s not letting a man scorned drink alone, even if Lukas says he's fine. Just in case. He's lazy, not careless.

“Who said anything about turning in early? Hells no.” He doesn’t say _yes, I’ll go_ ; he doesn’t have to, it’s a given. Instead, Python slings an arm around Lukas’ shoulders and starts dragging him towards town. “You know what, I’m feeling a real strong thirst all of a sudden. And a hankering for your company.”

The first few steps are a tangle as Lukas tries to find a way to walk upright and keep circulation, but soon they could be close friends on an evening out, not a lord and a soldier with little in common.

 

*

 

A drink or two turns out to be a great deal more than that. Python’s never gone out on a noble’s dime before. He’s realized they could both drink themselves to death tonight, and Lukas would still have loose change left for Forsyth to buy them coffins.

Python spends half his time introducing Lukas to every pretty woman in the tavern. He spends the other half of his time introducing _himself_ to every pretty woman in the tavern, but only because Lukas inevitably turns them all down.

After a lovely blonde maid takes a long sigh and gives up on landing a ginger stud for the night, Python mutters, “You should send them away sooner. You’re getting their poor hopes up, all polite and courtly like you are.”

“I’ll try,” he promises, and he’s true to his word. The next woman leaves him in huff after barely ten seconds. Lukas watches her go, bemused but not concerned, and Python’s cackling all the way to the bar and back.

It’s a little while after that when Lukas says, “You can rest now, Python. I think that was the last young woman in the tavern.”

“What about men?” Python asks. “There’s the pretty one in the corner. And tall, dark, and handsome by the window. Rugged merc at your eight o’clock. What do you think?”

The question amuses Lukas entirely too much. The alcohol’s gotten to him, most likely, and he doesn’t answer. It's too stifled to be a  _giggle_ , but it's certainly something.

Python leans back. He's content to wait until he gets an answer. “Well? That was a question. Yes or no, don’t be shy on me now.”

“If you insist," Lukas replies. He doesn't bother surveying Python's selection of eligible men. He's not here for them. "Tell me, which one of them is better worth my time than you?”

Python swallows his ale before he chokes on it. He sets down the flagon with a grin; the flagon _thunks_ as it falls on the table, empty. “Dunno, Luke, that merc is something else.”

Lukas glances over his shoulder, as discreetly as he can, then back to Python, and he is nothing short of perplexed. “Beauty in the eye of the beholder, _but_ I might wager that you’ve had too much drink for this one.”

They can agree to disagree. “Listen, stud, not all of us get to look into the mirror and see your face.”

It’s a comfort that Lukas doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s definitely _not_ a smooth dastard, and he has several false starts at sentences before he settles for, “Thank you?”

“My pleasure.”

 

*

 

They talk of many things; after all, talking is easier with alcohol to grease the wheels.

Lukas learns that Python’s completed a full apprenticeship as a carpenter. He hates the work, because one must belabor every last detail to make something of quality, but he promises Lukas that he might make him a trinket of some sort—just because he can.

Python learns that Lukas keeps his old books without binding, pages torn out to hide away from a father that didn’t want a bookworm for a son. He carries the entirety of _Historica Valentius_ in his saddlebags even now.

They both worry about the war, but when the conversation touches on it, they change the subject as quickly as they can. Neither of them want to talk about what tomorrow might bring. Not right now.

When Python near falls out of his chair, it’s the last round of ale. Lukas informs Python of that and doesn't allow much room for dissent.

Python takes his final trip to the bar and returns with two flagons, one that he shoves towards Lukas, who takes it like a scholar might take a new specimen. The liquid’s so dark as to be black, a strange sight compared even to the darkest local ale.

“What’s in this?” he asks.

“Beats me.”

“You didn’t think to ask?”

Python takes a swig. The taste of it is nutty, rich with malt, a lot like licorice, and too much like smoke. It’s some sort of Rigelian stout. Python could guess a great deal about it, but instead he says, “Nope. Not _my_ job to ask questions, nossir. That’s you.”

Lukas looks over the flagon at him. His gaze is steady, alert. It doesn’t seem to matter that he’s as many cups in as Python is. He takes a small sip from flagon, as if the ale were fine wine. “I suppose I’ll just trust your judgment then.”

“Trust _my_ judgment? That’s bold. Hells, that’s brazen.”

Lukas he smiles in that way he does—more with his eyes than the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps it is.”

 

*

 

At first, Forsyth is downright terrified when he sees Lukas approach, Python slumped lifelessly over his shoulder. Then he gets a whiff of the ale on them, and on second thought, it’s a wonder Forsyth didn’t smell them before he saw them.

Forsyth is beside himself. Python mutters something that sounds like a token attempt at a defense, but Forsyth is the only one out of the two of them that can form proper words. “Python, how could you? You’re a soldier, godsdammit, you shouldn’t be fraternizing with lords at a local tavern. It’s irresponsible! And unbecoming!”

Lukas laughs, and he abruptly silences himself when the movement in his shoulders makes Python groan. “At ease, Forsyth. I invited him out, and he was kind enough to accept. I just didn’t know that he doesn’t quite hold his drink as well as I do.”

There’s some protest from Python over his shoulder, something about holding his drink just fine, but both Lukas and Forsyth ignore it.

“My lord, with all due respect, Python is slenderer than you by a half.”

A moment passes as Lukas glances to Python and sizes him up. Python had seemed bigger, in his imagination, maybe because he's taller than Lukas. “Ah, yes. Now that you mention it, that’s something I should’ve taken into consideration. I miscalculated then, I apologize.”

“No need for apologies, not from you, my lord. _Python_ ,” Forsyth says in a tone as pointed as his lance, “should _know_ his limits—and not drink himself into a stupor with his commanders.”

“Really now, Forsyth.” Lukas passed Python into Forsyth’s arms—Forsyth takes him with a gentleness that belies his words. “Is it so improper for a man to buy a few rounds for his friends? Or would you have me seek Fernand’s company at the next village?”

Forsyth does his damnedest to not speak ill of his superiors. “When you put it that way," he says, and he doesn't elaborate.

Lukas steps away. He can hear Forsyth checking that Python is in fact conscious and chiding him not for excess but rather for not taking care of himself. The chiding isn't severe enough to hide his concern. It’s sweet. Lukas doesn’t know what he feels. It’s not envy as such. It’s just lonely, being too blueblooded for the commoners and not blueblooded enough for the nobles.

He’s about to leave when Forsyth calls out to him.

“Lukas!” When he has his attention, he continues, “He wants you to stay. Python. Er, obviously Python.” Forsyth doesn’t have Python’s disregard of propriety, so he fumbles as he keeps talking. He flushes red enough for Lukas to see even though it's late into the night. “I don’t mind. By which I mean, you’d be welcome. For me as well.”

"Let’s see if he asks again when he’s not as far gone,” Lukas replies.

Forsyth pauses. His surprise turns to approval. "He will, but an excellent idea all the same, my lord. Then, er, good night. Thank you for bringing Python back."

"Anytime."

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some artsy fartsy sad emblem fic. I somehow ended up with this. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.


End file.
